But one of all her treasures grows not on Asia's stand,
Nor yet in Pelop's mighty isle where reigns the Dorian band,
A plant self-reared, without a hand,
Terror to every foeman's brand,
Fairest it blooms in this our land, -
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The dark-green olive whence our offspring feed.
Nor young nor old shall e'er prevail its honors to destroy.
Beheld by blue Pallas and Jove's deathless gaze with joy,
Since Fate hath so decreed.
Ant. B.
And yet another glory to my mother town I bring,
Gift of a mighty god the best, the highest boast to sing,
The horse is hers to ride, and hers the sea.
This didst thou send, Poseidon, King,
Who taught'st the taming bit to fling,
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Hasty Pudding Club.
